The Tempest
by TinyStar
Summary: [Standalone] Carter&Abby: an old story set during and after Carter's first trip to Africa


_Note: This was written a few years ago. I wasn't happy with it and had originally uploaded for a short time it under a different name – so if you've read it before that's probably why. I've since decided it might be better to keep all my stuff together so am putting it here._

_Spoilers: None. It's set during Carter's first spell in Africa, and his return the first time. So it's old. Very old._

_As always, criticism and reviews are welcomed._

**The Tempest**

i. The Tempest

_A black, as of a spectre's cloak _

Hid heaven and earth from view

Sometimes, when he's alone he thinks of her. He stares coyly through the smoky, crowded room and conjures up her bright burning eyes from two chocolate embers in the fire, or stares at the sky slowly counting the stars that line the ocean between them. Sometimes he shuts his eyes to feel her breath sweep slowly over the stubble on his chin, sending familiar sensations along his tender skin, but opens them to see a leaf flutter sweetly to the ground – the aftermath of a summer breeze.

When this season comes, a wise man explained, the angels rejoice and play marbles on the great floors of heaven. That is why thunder is not frightening; it is only the echo of the colliding marbles heard on Earth. A reminder of a force more powerful than us, a sign, a notion, a taste of what we seek to know. Our destiny.

Black clouds roll in, deftly covering the lush jungle terrain. A silent ink seeps slowly across the sky, extinguishing the stars one by one, a crashing sound so great it drowns out their helpless screams. He cannot understand what the wise man said, he doesn't seek to comprehend. Thunder can crackle. Thunder can roar. Thunder can disguise his rage, overpower his tormented shouts and then the rain.. the rain can wash it all away, soothe his anger, numb his fears and the sun as it dawns can dry up any open wounds.

Thunder is violent, thunder is pent up rage at it's wildest. Thunder is when memories erupt inside, furious spurts of bubbling lava exploding into momentary insanity, causing him to cringe, to writhe, to cry but never to forget. Only re-live –

_"You're going, right? To Africa?" _

"It's not Rio but it's not here."

He repeats the words over and over in his head, a chant, a dangerous tune, leading him slowly over the edge. He shuts his eyes, but she's there torn, bloodied by his feigned obliviousness, bruised by words that slipped hard and cold from his lips. She doesn't move, just stares back at him, carefully angling her eyes so that all he can see is silver as a single tear slips shyly from the confines of her eyelashes, tracing a lonely pattern down her glowing cheek. She gazes at him soulfully as though waiting for him to reach out a hand and wipe it away, but he doesn't and she vanishes, though he longs for her to come back to him.

The rain beats his body to the dust and he cries out in terror as a tree, once tall and majestic loses footing and crashes to the ground before him. Branches rip away from the trunk, metamorphosising instantaneously into delicate shards of paper, wooden splinters which strike the saturated clay at random as groaning the enormous trunk comes to rest, a tangled heap. He clamours clumsily through the mass of dislocated limbs, hysterically calling out her name but there's no answer.

No one hears except the angry thunder, and the broken tree. Turmoil gives him no reply.

ii. Take me Home

_Sometimes  
I catch my mind  
circling for you with glazed eye--  
my lost love hunting  
your lost face._

Midnight. Witching hour, his car pulls up outside. Journey's end in sight he gazes down the lonesome alley – a far cry from where he woke up yesterday. Rubbish bins bask in the yellow glare of his headlamps until he abruptly turns them off to be left alone with his thoughts in the hazy darkness.

The key in the lock barely makes a sound as he makes his way through the apartment, cleaning the wooden floors with his stockinged feet. She's fast asleep, her gentle snores disrupting the quietness of the room. He kneels beside her, kisses her with care. She's so calm, so peaceful he dare not disturb. Instead he waits, watches her as time passes and the first faint rays of daylight cast narrow slants upon her precious face.

Then with a last stolen glance, he leaves, slipping away into the clutches of the morning.

xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx

It's late evening when he finally runs into her. She's stealing her way across the ambulance bay and as he wonders whether or not he should approach her, their eyes meet and all notions of avoidance dissolve.

"So you're back." Her stance is heavy, determined. Both feet planted heavily on the ground she doesn't move, she's expressionless, refusing to give anything away.

He's thrown by her accusing tone, though it was, on his part fully anticipated. "I'm back," he mutters with dire uncertainty.

They lock eyes, both unsure of what to do, what to say. For a moment there is an uncanny stillness as each searches for words that yesterday could be found in every bend and turn on the street, words that had been held on the tip of the tongue so long that perhaps now, in the hour of need had been accidentally swallowed.

He sees before him this woman who has haunted him since he left, waiting as she always does, for him to move. But he doesn't. Her eyes search him. Up and down until they gaze with bitterness, hurt into his. They open wide, bare and much as he wants to look away he can't. He can't resist. Then he watches as she tears them away from him, as slowly they become empty. She nods, and with realisation, turns her back on him and walks away.

Motionless, yet spinning he watches her form grow smaller in the distance. He's left behind. Then there's a spark, a sudden flash of electricity and he finds himself running. The sky is on fire with the deafening growl of thunder, resonating through the atmosphere into every crevasse in the dimming world below. The rain begins to fall, at first slowly, but then unleashing the fury of pent up aggression.

"Wait," he screams, praying that this time she'll hear. "Wait!" His shoes let in the water of unseen puddles, but he doesn't care. All he sees is her. All he wants is her. His footsteps grow frantic as he nears her, then further apart as he slows, to come to rest at her back.

"I miss you," he pleads, begging her to turn around. "I want you back."

She stops mid-step and despite the wailing of the storm he thinks he hears her sigh. Ever so slowly, with cautious movement she turns, so that they are just inches apart. Biting her lip, she struggles, but this time the words defy the heavenly rumble and they are heard loud and clear.

"I miss you too."

There's a pause, a silence, as if for a split second chaos has disappeared and the world doesn't matter, for everything revolves around the other.

He frowns and looks deep into the night sky as beautiful drops of rain splash onto his forehead. He smiles, allowing them to trickle along the contours of his face. She snuggles deeper into his shoulder as he bends his head and presses his lips tenderly against her ear.

"The angels are playing marbles tonight," he whispers.

Puzzled she raises her eyebrows "What?"

He brushes away a stray strand of hair.

"Never mind." But he closes his eyes and inhales her scent. Something stirs inside of him and he is reminded of that lost continent, many miles away.

He hugs her closer to himself, savouring the feeling of her small body warming his. Taking her hand he leads her through the narrow streets, sheltering her from the falling rain, catching glimpses of her face in the orange glow of the streetlamps. Thunder crashes, thunder roars but he no longer fears it. For he has found in it a reminder of a force more powerful than himself, a sign, a notion, a taste of what he seeks to know. His destiny.

In the gloaming a puddle yields a sudden reflection, and for a moment the moon turns everything to silver. Delicate slants of light catch the tears that trail along her cheeks, causing them to gently shimmer. He notices and wipes them away, tenderly, his touch as soft as the summer wind that sweeps the plains of Africa.

**The End**

_**Credits:**  
An awful tempest mashed the air - Emily Dickinson  
The Homecoming - Robert Lowell_

_Thank you for reading._


End file.
